Republique Democratique du Congo

New blog posts

Now that I'm back in Congo, I will be blogging again about my time there. I will continue to do my photo of the day on my main blog (www.stephen_gire.typepad.com). Please check there for daily new posts. But I will also blog a little more in depth about my time here in Congo, so make sure to check bag for updates...

8 March, 2009- Journee Internationale de la Femme

 "It is incumbent upon all men and women, members of the armed forces and forces for peacekeeping, leaders and ordinary citizens, to contribute to ending violence against women. States must keep their commitments to fight against violence, by bringing to justice the perpetrators and providing remedies to victims. Each of us must speak of these acts of violence in family, workplace and community, for a term to be set. "

Ban Ki-moon, UN Secretary-General

                              

In 1977, the UN invited each country of the world to celebrate a day for women’s rights. March 8th, 2009- Journee Internationale de la Femme- It is a day to demonstrate across the world the opportunity to claim equality, to make an assessment on the situation of women, and to celebrate the victories and advancements made by women throughout history. 

Especially in developing countries, this holiday focuses on overcoming violence against women and girls. According to UNICEF, in the least developed countries, like Congo, women are 300 times more likely to die in childbirth or from complications related to pregnancy, than in developed countries. And, if armed conflict and other situations of violence affect whole communities, women are more vulnerable to rape and other forms of sexual violence. Whether because of insecurity or lack of transportation, women often cannot visit a medical facility to give birth safely.

Journee Internationale de la Femme is a well renowned holiday here in Congo. I took a lot of pictures of the event and have put them in an album at the bottom of the post. The women paraded around all day, dancing and singing, while men played flutes and drums. Women of all vocations danced the day away- nurses, teachers, soldiers, merchants, students, children, and many more. It was so full of energy that the 5 hours we were there seemed like minutes.

I thought today I’d have a more interactive post to celebrate this holiday. I know March 8th has already past, but hopefully this post will keep the spirit going. If you are a woman, please post a comment on something that you have overcome or something or someone that has inspired you to overcome your circumstances. It’s time to celebrate the achievements you, or others have made.

My desire is to spread a little hope to those here in Congo- that people are hoping with them. That people around the world are hoping and praying for a day that things will be different, for a day that is no longer drenched with the despair, shame, and violence women around the world experience every day, especially in the developing world…

For more photos of the celebration, visit the album below  

Breakthrough?

                     
It’s a sad thing that I’ve been in Congo for almost 6 weeks now, and I’m just starting to hit my stride here. I think the language barrier has been a huge part of that slow progression. The French is getting better, though. At the start of the trip it was painful to speak or listen to French. In fact, I’d walk away completely exhausted, almost dreading the thought of speaking or comprehending the language for another day.

Thankfully that’s changed. While my French still needs A LOT of improvement, I’m able to engage in simple conversation and understand most people with relative ease. It still takes a lot of brainpower, but it’s no longer excruciating or exhausting for me. I consider that a success. While that is a breakthrough in and of itself, it’s not really the topic of my post today.

As many of you know, this trip has been somewhat closed emotionally for me. I’ve hinted at it before. I’m actually in this phase of my life where I’ve been cut off from a lot of my emotions. I’ve depended heavily on the rational/logical side of my character to get me through some tough things that have happened this last year. And even though this is my third time in Africa in the last 12 months, those experiences have played their part in shutting me down, as well.

I think God has provided many opportunities for me to “reconnect.” However, a part of me has enjoyed being able to just turn them off. It’s a little empowering to not give whim to every emotional pull you have. Makes you feel in control, or at least that’s what I’ve feebly convinced myself of. You’re not buying it are you? Well, I’m not either, not anymore at least. The fact is I’ve forgotten how to turn them back on… my emotions that is. I have some friends who’ve unfortunately experienced this side of me. After the fallout they always say, “Well at least you recognize it and are aware of it.” It’s the first step right?

Well, I’m tired of first steps- they don’t really lead anywhere. Well, at least not for a long time. I feel like I’ve been sitting on this first step, a cigarette in one hand and the other scratching my head wondering why I’m sitting on a step (I’m not a smoker by the way, but I do like the visual- adds to the whole “I’m tougher than dirt” motto). I guess when your sitting you can’t really be moving- which is probably my first problem.

I say all this because I guess I finally found a reason to stand up, or at least to stop scratching my head. Today we celebrated “Journée Internationale de la Femme”- the International Day of Women. I really like how the French language constructs things. It’s not a day for women; it’s a day of women- sounds more empowering I guess. The day-long event was a great celebration. I’ll write a post about it later, with some good photos I got from the event.

 Anyway, there was this young man there who had spent, what looked like days and days, on constructing a wooden camcorder- including a hat and a pair of ubber-stylish glasses (he had to capture the full filmmaker fashion style, en-vogue). You could tell that he meticulously put everything together. He was going for a perfect replica. He had a speaker, a lense, a viewport, and even a flip-out screen. I mean seriously folks, this guy’s got fierce talent. It was very entertaining. We had a fun time shooting each other with our cameras. You could tell he was enjoying it too.
 
You’d expect a kid to get up there, pretend to film for awhile, and eventually move on to something else. Well, we were there for 5 hours and this kid kept shooting. He’d get right in front of the crowds and weave through the parade to get the perfect shot. One would think, that after all this work, he would realize it was all just pretend and he would be left with no real footage from the event. However, this reality did not seem to deter him. This kid had so much joy looking through that viewport, setting up a shot and getting all the action. He smiled the whole time, all 5 hours we were there.

After the initial fascination and pure enjoyment of seeing this kid get so wrapped up in what he was doing, I started to think about what passion he had. This kid was probably 12 years old. Who knows how long he spent building that camera, just so he could pretend to shoot this whole event: Journée Internationale de la Femme. I mean this is the passion that filmmakers are made of. What an amazing and unique perspective he would have as a filmmaker. His passion would take him far in a place like America or Europe.

 That’s when it hit me- he would never be a filmmaker. Filmmaking will always be a fantasy to him, something he can only go to in his dreams. In America, a passion like this would be picked up on immediately, and it would be encouraged or stimulated. Here it will always be a child’s game. It will always be that silly boy with the toy camera.

The complete and utter injustice of the moment hit me in the pit of my stomach. This kid would never realize his dream. It will be forever locked in a photograph, floating through the web somewhere. That feeling that coursed through my body over the disparity of that moment is still here. A day later it still has not left me.

My moment of reconnecting with my emotions has come at the cost of a young man’s dream. It’s hard to truly feel the vindication of a breakthrough when you know that others will never have an opportunity to experience what they were meant for. It makes me angry, and sad.

Sometimes I hate being so fortunate. I feel like I need to honor those with less by being thankful for what I do have, and I do. But a part of me still feels anger for my fortune. Like why do I deserve it and this kid doesn’t? And how can that be a pure product of geography? Why am I unable to do anything for this kid? I feel utterly helpless. I wish I could just drop Steven Spielberg a line and be like “Yo, Homey, help a brotha out! Give this kid a scholarship to a film university.” 

I ask God these same questions. And I don’t get any answers. I feel injustice often has few answers, if any. Maybe it’s the tension of these unanswered questions that actually gets people to stand up and do something. Maybe it forces us into action. Yet I’m still left with little direction on what I can do. It just doesn’t make sense to me, and it doesn’t add up. I’m not sure it ever will…

So, I ask you these questions, as well. What will you do with them?

Gaining Perspective

I was just on facebook checking messages, and I read a long diatribe by someone who often posts highly charged political views- I guess I can’t really judge how one decides to use their facebook, but it’s not exactly what I enjoy reading in the morning, especially when I wake up and see the disaster of a government I’m surrounded by here in Congo.

 
It was an interesting experience though, to read such an article.  For the last month that I’ve been in Congo, I haven’t given US politics more than 2 seconds of my thought life, or emotional energy. In fact, many things that I’m normally wrapped up in while living out my days in the U.S. seem to be nothing more than fleeting thoughts. In fact, when I think back to what I know of America, the things I come to miss are my family and friends, washing machines, and a good bowl of ice cream- these really are the only things about my home that I spend time pondering- and have very little to do with America.

I’ve realized that most of what I spend my energy on in America carries very little of my time here in Africa. I think that is one reason I love it here so much. It puts things into perspective. When your focused on providing for a community that goes without so much, even if you can only help one or two at a time, you realize that your tax differential really is not so important. When you see young adults running around with tears in their jeans that render them practically naked, and notebooks for school that are written and rewritten on so many times that there is literally no more white on the pages, when you see a 23 year old woman who looks like she is 7 because she is so malnourished, you realize that we in America have things really, really good. We have very little to complain about- yet there are people, myself included, that focus and waste our energy in ways that are ultimately not important.

I think it’s interesting how people criticize government and politics as the new religion, while a big portion of the religious are so focused on US politics that it has practically become their new religion, or at least on idol. It just seems like wasted energy to me. I think it’s interesting that Jesus rarely talked about the political structure of his time. He focused on people, and the institution of religion itself. So why is it that today’s Christians are so focused on our current political structure? Didn’t Jesus come to show love, to heal the sick, to uplift the poor, to give people hope? Why is it that in our Western world, we as Christians don’t focus on those same things? We’ve become so cerebral in our culture that we are no longer driven to action.
 
Being here in Africa has revealed my own ability to fall into this trap of cerebral living. It’s so easy to sit, point fingers and criticize. It’s really tough to actually go and do something. I’m finding it very difficult here in the interior of Congo. Every day is a struggle. There’s no day that you are comfortable. There’s little room for complacency. It forces you outside your comfort zone and into the arena. I’m finding that it’s tough, but it’s so rewarding.

I feel so lucky to have this opportunity to take myself out of my normal train of thought and preoccupations. It’s truly a gift, and I learn more and more each time I come here, how integrate that into my life back in America. It’s amazing how perspective can change how you live your life. And something I see every day here in Congo, it’s amazing how hope can save a life, or even a nation.

Photo of the Week

Mary full of Grace

I shot this one at sunset in Lodja, at the mission we were staying in, Peres Passionistes. So I guess this is technically last weeks "Photo of the Week." The whole time we were at the mission, I was enamored by this statue, and the dulled turquoise paint that splattered the wall behind it. I was waiting for just the right moment for the sun to send a beam of reflective light from the roof. I knew it would catch in my lense for a nice glare effect. I snapped a couple of shots of Mary while we stayed at the mission. They all turned out nicely.

Pushing through the Malaise

So, I’ve found it extremely hard to sit down and write a blog since I’ve been in Congo. I’m not really sure what that’s about, but I will try to lay it out for you so I can parse out the undercurrents of my writer’s block. I think it has to do with my inability to fully process everything that is going on around me. If I actually sit down and write, then I have to process. If I process, then I draw myself emotionally and spiritually into my surroundings, and I don’t think I’ve had the energy to do that. People here call it the “Congo Malaise.”

Right now I’m sitting down, forcing myself to write (aka “to process”). I actually wasn’t going to, but I was browsing around on the internet this afternoon, specifically on my church website: www.thecrossingboston.org, and I noticed a little blurb mentioning my blog for everyone to see. I have to say I felt a little convicted. Right before Kate and I left for Congo, our church laid hands on us and prayed for our trip. They prayed for safety, for clarity on how to help this African community, and they prayed for power, conviction, and discipline to carry out the work God has placed on our hearts. It was such a powerful moment for me.

I recently made this church my community after reluctantly pulling away from New York to move to Boston. The church has been great, and I feel like I fit in nicely. Since they are now my community, I’ve laid my trust in their hands- trust to protect and nurture my heart, to challenge me when I fall short. To feel my community surround me and support me that evening as they prayed for me was amazing. I had chills running down my spine during the whole prayer. I felt so cared for.

As a part of this community, I’ve done very little to carry out this mission they have promised to hold me to.  I felt an immediate ping of conviction as I saw my name and the supposed “amazing work in Congo” I’m doing. At this point I don’t feel like I’ve held very faithfully to that description. I haven’t allowed myself to be drawn emotionally and spiritually into my surroundings. I haven’t let it affect my heart, alter my actions, or strengthen my convictions. Sure we brought over boxes of medical supplies and medications that put a smile on the Sisters faces as if it were Christmas morning. But what is action without heart?

So why the reluctance? Well, let me briefly lay out the last several weeks for you.

The first week I was in Congo I spent it in Kinshasa. We met with local health programs, NGO’s and missionary health organizations to get an idea of what health efforts were going on in Congo. It was a knowledge-gathering period that was very helpful in forming a plan of action for the non-profit. It was a really productive time. From there we flew into the interior of Congo, a big village called Lodja. There we met with hospitals and clinics, and we traveled to several remote villages to look at their healthcare infrastructure and capabilities.

I don’t know what it was during that week in Lodja, but it shut me down. It was an oppressive environment. I felt unwelcome there. People stared at us, made fun of us, and barely interacted with us. It was really hard. I thought to myself “Why am I here in a country that doesn’t even want me to be here?” During that time I couldn’t connect with God, or read scripture. There was this mental and spiritual block that was keeping me from feeling connected. It was really draining.

Since I’ve been in Kole, it’s been wonderful. People here are welcoming and friendly. They are accustomed to our presence, and they trust us. They know why we are in Kole: to help treat Monkeypox patients. It’s truly a different environment than Lodja. It’s amazing what 240 kilometers can do. Yet, for some reason I’ve carried this spiritual oppression with me. I just can’t seem to shake it. I don’t know if it’s the heat that just drains me and leaves me unmotivated at the end of the day, or if there really is some block that I’m feeling. Either way, it is preventing me from being fully present.

Maybe writing this will help break it. Maybe your prayers after reading this will help too. I’ve been sent here by the prayers and support of my family, friends and community. What’s hard to keep in perspective while I’m half-way around the world, is the reality that my community has come with me in heart and spirit. They are here to support me and give me strength when I need it. I guess I’ve forgotten that to some extent. Being so isolated can do that. I guess this is the beginning of processing some of those things, and integrating myself into this experience. I owe it to the people who are praying so diligently for me- we all carry responsibilities within community.

This all sounds somewhat melodramatic as I read it back to myself. But I realize that writing it serves as a landmark. It serves as a literary tool to hold me accountable to what’s been on my heart for some time. To be a part of the change that heals people, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. In fact it seems absurd to me to waste this precious time that I have here…

…I guess I’ll just have to keep posting blogs for my own cathartic benefit.

I’m in Congo!!!!

I’ve spent the last several months preparing for my most recent trip to Congo. I’ve ordered all the laboratory supplies for our Monkeypox studies, the antibiotics for Congo Medical Relief’s efforts to bring research capacity to DRC, and I’ve set up various meetings while in country, to facilitate our partnerships with other organizations here in DRC. I’ve packed all of our supplies with inventory lists and extra tape for the rough journey across the Atlantic. I’ve even calculated exactly how much money I will need each day I’m here. So it came as quite the surprise to be hit by the realization that I am very unprepared.

In fact, I haven’t really had time to let it sink in that I will be here for two months. My heart and my mind have been distracted by logistical frustrations and stresses. I found myself feeling like I was just in another city. My trip was quickly boiling down to “just work.” It wasn’t until I stepped outside on the patio of my hotel here in Kinshasa last night, three days into my trip, that I realized how much I had forgotten.

My hotel room looks over a very small portion of the Congo River. The very river that Henry M. Stanley traversed as he first charted the river’s great expanses. It is the same riverbed where thousands and thousands of Congolese lost their lives during the Belgian occupation under King Leopold II. And, it is still the place where many Africans struggle to survive each and ever day. I followed the river’s path, my eyes falling on the juncture where the Atlantic spills into what many refer to as Central Africa’s Highway. In my mind I overlaid the map of Congo on the very spot I was standing. I became a mere pinpoint in a massive country. Truly humbling. And in those moments I feel so small, I tend to reach for my Bible.

During my time here, I have committed to praying the Psalms. This actually came about by two separate inspirations that seem, at first, unrelated. This month my church has been singing the Psalms as part of our worship together. We have taken several approaches to singing them, using different traditional formats. It’s been one of the most beautiful dialogues I’ve held with a community and with God. At the same time, my friend Nikki was learning about praying the psalms in one of here theology classes at Princeton. She propositioned the idea to me shortly before I left. Because of the impact that singing the Psalms has had on me, I eagerly agreed.

So last night God prepared me for my journey into the interior of Congo. As I sat out on my patio overlooking the river, I opened my French Bible to the Psalms, and I began to read aloud, quietly at first, but with assurance. I can’t explain to you the empowerment that coursed through my veins as a spoke out to the night. My words became strident… firm… powerful... They became a cry for help, a cry for relief, a cry on the behalf of a people who have struggled and fought for so long. I wept that evening, the pain and angst as tangible as the thick, humid night air. For a brief moment I felt a part of something bigger, a part of something ancient and sacred.

In that moment my focus shifted to the true reason I am here, to why I’ve been pulled to this country for so long: Hope… and the power to remember the stories of a nation that have largely been forgotten. I am now ready to tell their stories.

Congo in the News

As many of you may be aware, DRC has been in the news several times this week. General Leurant Nkunda is advancing his militias in the North Kivu district of Congo. He is heading up to Goma, one of the more established cities in Congo. Thousands have been displaced and are fleeing for their lives. Even though the fighting is mainly in the Eastern region of Congo, and I work on the West and Central regions of Congo, it is still very upsetting.

The New York Times has a great library of articles archived over the past decade that really provide some interesting aspects of the DRC. Here is the link: Breaking World Congo News (if you don't have a NYTimes account, it's free to create one to gain access to some of the articles).

Here are a couple of articles that you may find of specific interest:

Africa's First World War- the story of Congo's conflict 

Rape Victims Unit- the stories of those affected most.

Possible Hope in Tourism

 

Photo of the Week

If you guys kept up with my Nigeria blog when I was there this Spring, then you know that I like to post photos of the week. I thought I'd break the silence by putting a quick picture out there for everyone, that I think turned out really well. It really captures the heart of the Congolese children.
The kids in Kole are so vibrant and full of life. There joy is infectious, and it's hard not to get wrapped up in it as the parade down the road with you, asking for candy (bonbons en francaise), and asking you to take their picture. The kids will grab onto you in the dozens, each child taking a finger as you walk. As much as the attention for being white is a little off-putting, the attention from all the children is really a joy, and you learn to just go with it, and enjoy their presence. Anyway, so here is my first of many pictures I will post. And, I promise to put up another post this weekend. I'm sorry it has taken me so long after returning from Congo to post updates.

The Sky is Falling

Today started off as a great day. Kate and I checked out of our hotel rooms and one of the drivers from the INRB came to pick us up and take us to the airport. It was going to be a great day. We were headed to Kolé – the village that I will be staying in for the majority of the time I’m in the Congo. It was a beautiful day for flying: sunny and not too hot. One of the catholic sisters joined us for our flight. She was waiting there at the airport with her meager belongings. We boarded the plain just after 9am. As you can see from my backseat view, it was a very small plane. There were four of us, including the driver.

When we go out to Kolé, we charter a plane from a Christian missionary organization called MAF. They are stationed here in the DRC, and they provide some of the safest, most reliable travel in the area. Since the roads are so horrible in the Congo, you pretty much have to fly whenever you travel within country. John was our pilot- a nice, jovial man who was also a computer and mechanical wiz. He’s been flying these routes for many years now.

As we lifted off, I got some shots of Kinshasa for y’all to see. You can see the old shipyard on the banks of the Congo River. It’s a massive river. I’ve never seen anything like it before in my life. If you look at the picture, you can barely even see the other side of the bank. Incredible!!!

We passed a pretty impressive ship hard that had been abandoned with old ships. I got a really great shot as we left Kinshasa.

The flight to Kolé would take about 4 hours. We would have to stop in Vanga for more fuel, before we took off for the last 2 hours of the flight. It was amazing to see Africa from just 14,000 feet. It’s a site most people never see. Over the vibration, high altitude, and constant hum of the engine, I quickly dosed off until we landed in Vanga.

When we arrived in Vanga, the sun was out and the weather was mild. A family from the MAF group came to meet us and help refuel the plane. They had been in Vanga since 2004. They came over from the United States as missionaries. They had a small two year old that was quite the handful. We freshened up before heading back on board. As we took off, it looked like smooth sailing the rest of the way. I got some great pictures of Vanga as we were taking off.

About an hour into our flight, we saw the edge of a storm rolling in. It was right in our flight path. Our pilot, John, maneuvered around and basically road the edge of the storm until we found a spot to break through. It was a bumpy ride and a little stressful. But nothing too serious. For the last 80 miles or so, we had no choice but to head straight into the storm. You can see the edge of the storm from the picture. That was shortly before things started getting bad- hence why the pictures stopped.

We dived down under the clouds to skim across the surface, hoping to ride the storm out as we approached Kolé. That’s when things started getting really rough. There was lightning all around us, crackling and branching off into a million tentacles. The rain was coming down pretty hard. All the sudden, the plan dropped, we were in free-fall for about 5 seconds, my camera had flown up and was level with my head. At this point, sister Lorantine grabbed a bag and threw up. We continued to drop, shake, and teeter back and forth. About 15 minutes later, Kate lost it and threw up as well. We were all holding onto our seats and just hoping and praying it would stop. After about 40 minutes of really, really rough weather, we finally saw the Kolé airstrip. It was the most comforting site I’ve ever seen.

After we landed, we had to argue with the border patrol because he wanted us to pay him for crossing into Kolé, because we were “uninvited guests.” It got a little heated there for a while. Finally, I remembered that I still had my initial visa invitation letters on my computer, so I printed them off. With a little persuasion, he finally let us go and we left for the house.